Dimensions

by Krystyne Price

  “Well,” Lori responded, sounding less-than-convinced. “All right, if you say so. But I’m only a phone call away, okay?”

  “Thanks.”

  “Sure. And call me when you get settled so we can go over my notes. I want you to get the rewrite in before they hit final.”

  “You got it. Call you later. Bye.”

  “Bye.”

  Jane snapped the phone closed, laughing abruptly when she remembered Lori’s disbelief that she still insisted on owning a flip phone rather than the newer Smartphones of the day. Her stomach gurgled and she realized how hungry she was. Okay, time for dinner at the café. Maybe there she could find out where she could stay. Right now, sleep was infinitely more inviting than continuing to think she’d gone insane.

  * * *

  Lori put the phone back on its base atop the small bar between her kitchen and living room. A one-bedroom apartment-dweller herself, she looked down at the hard copy of Thunder and Lightning and shook her head. Striking features were accentuated by long platinum blonde hair. Her pale blue-gray eyes grew more troubled as her fingers drummed on the manuscript.

  “I don’t like it, Jonesy,” she said as her black-and-white cat hopped up onto the bar and rubbed against her arm. “She seems like something’s wrong, and I don’t buy that bit about it being memories. You?”

  Jonesy mewed in response, stopping to lick her wrist. She moved her hand to rub and pet the top of his head.

  “I know. She sounded really off. She can’t possibly have seen them yet.” After a few more moments lost in thought, Lori shrugged her shoulders and shook her head. “I’ll press her about it more when she calls later tonight,” she decided, rising from the stool and plopping the thick stack of paper on top of the bar. “Want some treats?”

  Jonesy meowed his approval, but Lori barely noticed. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard Jane sound scared before,” she said softly, grabbing a can of treats and dumping some on the counter. She looked at the clock on the wall. “Well, boy, gotta get going.” She sighed, stroking the cat’s back once more. “I hope I’m doing the right thing.”

  * * *

  Good, down-home Midwestern cooking. That’s what she’d been missing all these years. It surprised her how good the meatloaf and home fries were. How warm and inviting the apple pie. How milky the homemade vanilla ice cream. There just wasn’t anything like small-town meals, that was for sure. She sat at a booth in the front right corner, concentrating on the food and the few patrons who came and went. Two cups of coffee after she’d finished dessert, the waitress finally approached with the handwritten check.

  “Anything else for you, hon?” she asked.

  “No, thanks,” she replied, pulling her wallet out of her purse. The waitress nodded and left the bill on the table, turning to walk away. “Oh, wait! I’m sorry, there is one other thing.”

  “Sure.”

  “Any idea where I can find a place to stay?” Jane asked.

  “You new here?”

  “Sort of, yes.”

  “Well, we don’t have any hotels, but there is a lady on Cornflower Street who sometimes rents her rooms out to passers-by. What you doin’ out here in the middle of nowhere, hon? You don’t look like one of us.”

  Jane thought on that. No, she wasn’t any longer one of them, and thus far she hadn’t seen a single person she recognized from her childhood. “I’m from California,” she explained. “Just passing through.”

  “Right, well, the woman you want is Ruth Reynolds. 435 North Cornflower Street.”

  “Thanks,” Jane smiled as she pulled some bills out of her wallet. “Here, keep the change.”

  The waitress nodded, and Jane distinctly felt eyes on her as she got up, crossed the small dining room and walked out the door. She got into her car and looked up, only to find the waitress and two others standing at the window watching her.

  “Small towns,” Jane said with a little laugh. “I’d forgotten.”

  But the laugh didn’t reach her eyes. Visions of Vasan filled her mind, so much so that she passed Ruth Reynolds’ place and found herself right smack dab in front of her childhood home, directly across Maple Street from the church. Perhaps seeing her old hiding places, remembering other events from her childhood, would remove Vasan from her thoughts. Somehow, though, even Jane wasn’t convinced.

  It was only around 6:30 in the evening, still early enough to impose upon the current minister. So she parked on the shoulder at the curb, shut her car off and headed up the front walk. She stepped up onto the long, concrete porch then up the five stairs to the front door. There was no doorbell. Hadn’t been when she lived there, either. Jane opened the screen door and knocked on the wooden door behind it. Same damn wooden door, with a large rectangle of glass in it. Funnily enough, the lace curtains on the other side seemed to be torn. Well, maybe the minister didn’t make any more money than her father had and simply couldn’t afford to replace them.

  There was no answer, and so she knocked again. A voice from behind startled her. “Who ya lookin’ for?”

  She whirled around, the screen door slamming shut as she let it go. It was a thirty-something man out on the front sidewalk. “I…I’m sorry, I was looking for the current minister of the church,” she replied, jerking her thumb in the big white building’s direction.

  “Minister?” the man repeated, heading up the walk toward her. “The minister of that church is the same one that services Fenville twenty miles away. He lives out on a ranch halfway in between, over ten miles from here.”

  “You mean…no one lives here now?” Jane asked, turning to look back at the door.

  “No. Hasn’t been anyone there since Reverend Marsh died and his family up and moved to Ohio eighteen years ago.” Jane felt a twinge in her chest at the mention of her father. “Who’re you? Someone looking to be saved?”

  She barked out a short laugh. “God, no,” she replied bitterly, moving down the steps. “I…I used to live here. I was hoping to see the inside of it again.”

  The man moved closer until they were only a couple feet apart. She eyeballed him and was pleasantly surprised to find a kind, chiseled face framed by wavy terra cotta hair. She frowned. The man actually looked an awful lot like her envisioned Vincent Tanner.

  “You used to live here?” he asked, eyebrows shooting up. “Who are you?”

  “Jane Marsh,” she replied, sticking out her hand.

  “No way!” the man breathed as he took her hand. “As in, Reverend Marsh’s daughter?”

  “The same,” she nodded as he released her hand. “Who are you?”

  “Trevor Billings,” he replied. “I…I remember you. From school, and from church. I was a grade ahead!”

  “Trevor?” she said, moving closer and looking into his eyes. They were a mix between dark yellow and a very light brown, framed by long, thick lashes, and she gasped. “My God, I do remember you!” She laughed as he put his arms around her, twirling her around three times before setting her back down. “You’re the first person I’ve recognized!”

  “Really?” he asked, kissing her cheek lightly as he took her hands. “How long you been back?”

  “Only since earlier this afternoon! I was actually headed to Ruth Reynolds’ place. The waitress at the diner told me she rents rooms out.”

  “Yes, she does, if you want to go that route. You’re more than welcome to hang out at our place, though. We moved in just three houses down from here, me and my mom.”

  “Your father?”

  He dipped his eyes and shifted uncomfortably, letting go of one of her hands. Trevor reached up and scratched along the back of his neck. “He died two years ago. Combine accident.”

  “Oh, Trevor, I’m so sorry,” she said. And she meant it.

  The more she looked at him, the more she wondered if all the people in her books were based on someone she knew. First Vasan…she shuddered as he entered her thoughts…and now, Trevor looking so much like the Vincent Tanner in her mind? It had to b
e more than a coincidence. But seeing a familiar face, someone from her past that she’d actually liked, made all thoughts of Vasan flee.

  “Thanks,” he replied, squeezing her hand. “So? Take me up on it?”

  “I’d love to!” she grinned. “Can we still park on the street overnight?”

  He laughed. “You’re from some big city, aren’t you?”

  “Not really,” she smiled in return. “Shea Valley’s about an hour north of LA. It’s moderate in size.”

  “As in, fifteen thousand people?”

  “No! More like forty!”

  “That’s moderate?” he laughed, leading her down to the sidewalk and out to the Taurus.

  “It is in Southern California! I’ll just pull on down in front of your place.”

  “No, the driveway’s fine. Mom can’t drive anymore and I’m not going out again tonight.”

  She nodded and got into her car, her step lighter than it had been since she’d arrived. At last she began feeling good about this trip to her past as thoughts of strange phantom beings and hot, wet kisses fell away. Not to mention that a cute kid had transformed into a damn fine grown man. She blushed in embarrassment as she started the car and put it into gear. Passing him slowly, she couldn’t help but watch him walk. “Nice ass,” she whispered.

  Jane laughed out loud, blushing even more as she pulled into his driveway. She popped the trunk and by the time she got out he had her suitcase in hand. “Come on in,” he said. “Mom’s already in bed, so you won’t be able to say hi ‘til tomorrow.”

  “Okay. I really appreciate this, Trevor.”

  “No problem. I’m glad for the company. Gets kind of lonely what with Mom not being able to say much anymore. Doctors keep telling me to put her in the home out on the edge of town by the trailer park, but I just can’t do it.” He opened the front door and gestured for her to enter.

  She was pleasantly surprised by the richly appointed interior. The living room to their right was done mostly in pine wood furnishings, bright primary color abstracts hanging on each of the three walls. A china cabinet in the corner held models of what appeared to be various ships and planes, and Jane couldn’t keep her curiosity in check. She crossed the living room as Trevor stood and watched, a faint smile on his face.

  Jane’s fingertips touched the glass of the rounded cabinet. She stared in disbelief at the models behind it. “It can’t be,” she breathed, noting the long, sleek, silver plane; the giant, bulky blue hulking craft; the green torpedo-shaped submarine…a myriad of other small models…and then she looked up at the top shelf and gasped.

  “Jane? What is it?” Trevor asked, dropping her suitcase and crossing quickly to her side.

  “Where…?” She looked up at him. “Where did you get these?” There upon the topmost shelf sat a replica of the Tanner estate, right down to the very detailed window carvings, wrap-around porch and outlying buildings and barns. “Trevor, what is this?”

  He shook his head, not understand her reaction. “It’s some models I made for a new movie they’re doing. That’s what I do. I’m a model-maker, work mostly on movies, some on documentaries. I also get commissioned to do other models, like the kind you buy in toy shops and other stores.”

  “New movie?” she repeated looking back at the Tanner home. “It wouldn’t be called Lightning Strikes, would it?

  “Yeah,” he grinned. “How’d you…?” He closed his eyes and slapped his forehead. “That’s it! I wondered why I’d been thinking about you – it’s that movie! You’re the one who wrote the damn book!”

  “Yes!” she laughed, shaking her head. “You’re creating what I created! I can’t believe this, can I look at these?”

  “Of course!” he exclaimed, turning the small skeleton key in the tiny brass lock. “Feel free!”

  She reached in and took out the model of the primary Tanner family jet belonging to John Tanner. She turned it over and over in her hands, marveling at the detail. Then she replaced it and took out the huge transport ship, simply dubbed The Giant. “This is exquisite,” she breathed. “It’s just like I imagined it. How did you know?”

  He shrugged. “It’s simple. They gave me the descriptions from your two books, e-mailed them to me. I just interpreted what you wrote. I had no idea who the author was, actually, until I happened to see it in a bookstore in Waterloo a week or so ago.” She put The Giant back on the shelf and ran her hands over the white fence surrounding the Tanner Estate. “I just couldn’t believe it was the same Jane Marsh I’d grown up knowing, but here you are!”

  Jane shook her head. “Unbelievable. What are the odds?”

  “Small world,” Trevor agreed. “Listen, you want anything to drink?”

  “Um…no, no, I’m kind of tired, actually. Maybe just watch a little TV to lull myself to sleep?”

  “Sure, let me show you where you’ll be sleeping, then you can either hit my room for TV or come on down to the den. Whatever you like.”

  “Thanks,” she said, stifling a yawn. She took one last look at the models, shaking her head and smiling as Trevor relocked the cabinet. Then she turned and followed him up the stairs.

  Small world indeed.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Jane had no idea what was even on the television. She and Trevor had been talking for hours. She found herself with no concept of time other than to register that it was dark out. A fire blazed on the hearth as the two sat on the sofa, skin red with warmth and laughter, eyes sparkling as they recalled school days, pranks, awful teachers they’d shared and the history of what each had been doing to date.

  “It’s so unbelievable that you’re working on the movie,” Jane said, leaning back into the plush green pillows of the couch. Her eyelids drooped as jet lag and the intensity of the day’s events began to take their toll.

  “I know,” Trevor smiled, also leaning back. He looked at the fireplace, flames dancing in his eyes, almost making them glow. “I’m glad you followed your heart,” he said next, not looking away from the fire.

  She turned and looked at him. Shadows danced across his skin and hair. In profile, she realized, he was amazing. “I’m glad I did, too,” she whispered. “I’m so tired, I don’t know if I can move.”

  “Go ahead and lay down,” he replied absentmindedly.

  Jane looked over at him again. Her heart picked up pace a bit, but weariness settled over her and she yawned, her body tipping sideways almost of its own volition. “Thanks,” she mumbled. Even as her head hit his leg, she had fallen asleep.

  Trevor reached out, tentatively touching her hair. He pulled his hand back as she sighed, then let it find her hair once more. “Welcome home, Janie,” he said, leaning back and closing his eyes. “Welcome home.”

  * * *

  Slowly her eyes blinked open. She was warm and felt strange, as though rising from a fog. Sunlight edged in through the horizontal blinds on the room’s two windows. A room she didn’t recognize. She yawned and sat up. Looking down, she found herself covered by a white sheet, pink blanket and pink-and-white quilt. The bed had no footboard, but a dark walnut wood headboard with a mirror in the middle of it. A matching walnut night stand and tall dresser completed the ensemble. The carpeting was rose-colored, the curtains the same. On the wall behind her was a painted watercolor of pink and white roses.

  “The pink and white room,” she said, yawning again. She looked at the night stand. An old-fashioned alarm bell clock told her it was nearly ten-thirty in the morning. Boy, had she slept! And that’s when it dawned on her what that fog she was feeling was. Coming out of a good night’s sleep. No nightmares. No dreams. No phantoms. No Vasan. She shrugged that last thought off and rolled out of bed and onto her feet. Still fully clothed, but with her shoes having been removed, she walked across to the door, opening it quietly. Down the hall to her left, she spied what she’d been looking for: a bathroom.

  She turned back and picked her suitcase up, laying it on the bed. Opening it, she rifled through it until she’d pull
ed out a fresh change of clothes, then headed out into the hall where she nearly ran over someone.

  “Trevor!”

  “Jane!”

  “I’m sorry!”

  “It’s okay!” he laughed. “On your way to the tub?”

  “Tub? What, no shower?”

  “Old house,” Trevor grinned sheepishly. “We put in a half-bath downstairs; it does have a shower stall. Out by the kitchen, used to be a laundry room.”

  “No,” she said, looking back toward the bathroom. “A bath sounds nice. Sorry I slept so late.”

  “Hey, you were tired, no big deal.”

  “I, uh…I assume you brought me up here. Last thing I remember is the couch.”

  “I did.”

  “Thanks.”

  He nodded and smiled. “Want some breakfast when you’re done?”

  “Yes, I’m famished!”

  “Coffee?” She nodded. “Okay. Mom’s eating now, she remembers you, too. She’s dying to say hi.”

  “Okay. I’ll be down quick.”

  They stood there for a moment more until nervous laughter finally spurred Jane to move toward the bathroom. She turned to close the door and saw Trevor was still standing there watching her. She nodded once and shut it tightly. Looking around, she noticed the freestanding claw-foot white bathtub, a frosty shower curtain on a metal rod to pull around it.

  “Old-fashioned,” she said, placing her things on top of a set of shelves next to the similarly freestanding sink. “This is neat. Been a long time since I’ve actually taken the time for a bath.”

  She pulled her jeans off, followed by her socks, and was just about to hike her underwear down her thighs when there was a knock at the door. She frowned.

  “Jane? Sorry, I forgot to give you towels,” came Trevor’s muffled voice.

  She opened the door, keeping her body behind it and poked out a hand. “Thank you,” she said.

  “Sure.”

  She closed the door again quickly and placed the towels on another small set of shelves next to the bathtub. Removing her underwear, shirt and bra, she balled the dirty clothes up and placed them on the floor next to the sink. She turned the hot and cold water on, moving her hand under the resulting blast of water from the old faucet, testing it until it was just the right temperature. A quick look through a wicker cabinet hanging on the wall found a bottle of Avon bubble bath.